Gerent Head
by Gospel Stonemad
Summary: Gerent: one that rules or manages. So, basically; SHIELD takes a tumble, the Avengers don't belong to anyone, and Tony takes the initiative.


Note: This is a prequel to 'Gentle Heart' and the sequel to 'Ghost Heart'. Yes, I know. I wrote them out of order.

* * *

Gerent Head

* * *

"The true genius shudders at incompleteness—imperfection—and usually prefers silence to saying the something which is not everything that should be said."

_Marginalia_

Edgar Allen Poe

* * *

April comes in with a bang and Tony Stark could only watch his television as the Triskelion in D.C. crumbles. Pepper's hands were on his shoulders, anchoring him as three helicarriers go up in smoke and crash down into crystalline water.

The newscast spews terrorism, horror, even as JARVIS says something about how all of SHIELD's previously inaccessible network is online and open to the public. Suddenly available for everyone—friends, allies, neighbours, even computer using dogs if there was such a thing. The intelligence force was crumbling in front of him, live on his screen, and he could do _nothing_.

"_Sir, I cannot get Agent Romanoff on the line._"

"Then try Barton," Tony snapped, his eyes wide, unblinking, as he watched the last of the helicarriers get hit. Something—silhouetted, limp, _unmoving_—falls into the water as the camera zooms in. The picture is too blurry, too fast, and the figure hits the water just as a second one jumps out of burning, falling wreckage, diving in after them. "Try Rogers, try _anyone_."

A helicopter came on screen, going over the Potomac river, figures inside (two? Three?) but had been too silhouetted against the clear, blue sky for anyone to get a clear look at who they were. Screams rose up from the people around the cameraman as the last Helicarrier broke off in pieces into the river, chunks slamming onto streets, woody banks, and warehouse buildings.

Pepper squeezed his shoulders again and he turned to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, her forehead resting against his neck as they watched the collapse together.

"—_No, no over there! I saw him fall! Who the hell is this?"_ The voice that suddenly came through the speakers had both Tony and Pepper jumping. It was a stranger's voice, masculine, with rumbling R's. There was a roar in the background, something exploding a few seconds before it did on the screen, helicopter blades making it almost impossible to hear anything until JARVIS managed to filter it through.

"You're the one holding—"

"_Steve Rogers, Sir._"

"—Rogers' phone, I should be asking you that." Normally he would set up a tracker, find out where the actual phone was, but, as the billionaire stared at the screen (correction; stared at the helicopter _on_ his screen), he realized he didn't have to.

There was a moment of shouting on the other end that not even JARVIS could clear up. _"Look, man, I __**really**__ don't have time for this—"_

"Where's Rogers?" Tony demanded and winced as a chunk of flaming debris missed the chopper by just inches. "Where's Romanoff?" He asked instead. Hadn't they been in D.C. together? Partners preparing for SHIELD assignments? The two of them were as thick as thieves in the capitol.

"_Don't know about Steve—no, no, damn it, we've got to get down there—but I've got the super assassin right here."_

There was another sound—the sound of someone fumbling with a phone, of fabric crossing over a speaker, and a loud yelp (Tony figured it was from when the helicopter jerked on screen) before; _"What do you want?"_

"Agent Romanoff, did you miss me?"

"_Not really,"_ she replied, and there was a breathlessness to her voice that almost completely masked the sharp deadpan and '_I really don't have time to deal with your shit_' tone. _"Take us down closer!"_

"_I'm getting us as __**close**__ as I __**can**__!"_ The snappy, dark response came from someone else. A pilot, then. _Nick Fury_, Tony realized. He was dead, though. He'd seen the reports himself— _"You wanna try __**flying**__ this thing, Romanoff?"_

Damn sneaky bastard.

There was silence from the assassin and Tony could only assume she levelled a dark look at the director. _"I can't—"_ She started to say to the billionaire before she was yelling. _"There! He's over there! On the bank!"_

The helicopter on screen suddenly dropped, vanishing beyond the tree line. Zooming out, the cameraman showed the smoke and destruction, but kept focused on the area. Tony listened to the shouting on the other end of the phone, catching _"where's his shield?"_, _"damn it, he's been shot—"_, and _"we need to get him to a hospital, __**now**__"_.

The line cut off, leaving Pepper and Tony in silence to watch as the helicopter on the screen rose up a few minutes later and sped off once more, vanishing over the city.

"Tony?" the strawberry blonde started, holding his cheeks and then pulling his head to her chest, stroking her fingers down his back. "They're going to be okay," Pepper murmured against his hair. "Everything's going to be okay."

His dark eyes closed for a minute, each breath deep and calming before they snapped open again. "Jarvis," Tony leaned back from Pepper, but kept his arms around her. "Scan through all information just released to the internet from SHIELD. Delete everything incriminating about Agents Romanoff and Barton, Captain Steve Rogers, Thor, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and Doctor Bruce Banner."

"_Yes, sir."_

Tony turned his narrowed eyes to the screen. He would go through all the information later for now, though... the billionaire tapped a file on one of the table tops and a large white A appeared before him, three-dimensional and looking strikingly similar to the one that was on his tower.

It was time to get to work.

oOo

Natasha Romanoff curled up beside him on the private jet, her head resting on one arm, eyes closed, but not sleeping. The couch they were on was big enough for at least three more people and the redhead seemed almost swallowed up by the size. The bags under her eyes, the limpness of her hair, how her knees pulled up protectively towards her chest all seemed to solidify that fact. Tony didn't watch her and, instead read an article about his company's recent exploits in clean energy, his laptop open before him.

JARVIS was also running scans to find Barton who managed (incredibly, really) to vanish when all of SHIELD's files spread out across the internet.

Tony's private jet was a luxury that Natasha hadn't turned down. Now that the government was watching her every move, even getting through the airport had become a hassle that wasn't exactly necessary (it wasn't like she was hiding, after all). Pepper looked up every few minutes to check on the redhead, though, remembering when they had watched SHIELD collapse, remembering her breathless voice over the phone with the sound of helicopter blades and explosions in the background, remembering when she walked into the tower, exhausted, stumbling, pants still wet from where she fished Steve Roger's shield out of the water.

The same shield that was now, safely, hidden back at Stark Tower where the numerous government officials squabbling in D.C. couldn't get their hands on it. Technically, since it hadn't been sold to Steve Rogers or the army, it was a family heirloom. Tony Stark could do what he wanted with it.

He _wanted_ it back on Steve's _arm_.

The phone next to the couch binged and Tony frowned at the text message.

_Government is looking for anyone to use as a scapegoat_, Rhodey said. _Keep your head down._

Down? Tony snorted and typed out a reply. The government had gone to _shit_ and he was willing to find a solution. Pepper met his eyes when they both looked up and he got up to sit next to her.

"What are you thinking?" She murmured, careful to keep her voice down in case Natasha did want to sleep.

"The Avengers," Tony drummed his fingers lightly against the table and frowned. "Getting the team back together now that Nick Fury isn't there to clean up the planet's mess."

Pepper looked down at the papers in front of her, biting her lip. "You can't just run into this," she said softly. "Plans, drawing boards, configurations."

"Well, of—" He paused and stared at her small grin. "You're on board with this."

"The six of you together," her eyes turned to Natasha. "You do good work," she admitted. "Far more than the rest of us could do." Her smile brightened, even though it stayed small. Something in her eyes, he thought, made it that way. "I've seen all of you become a group of friends. Maybe it's time you become a team." _A family_, was her unspoken add in, but it was heard anyway. "Just be safe."

There came a snort from the couch and they both glanced at the blue-green eyes of Natasha Romanoff. "If Stark can keep his butt out of trouble we wouldn't have a problem."

"Who just destroyed a building in New York and put out all the intelligence information on the internet?" Tony spread out his hands. "It wasn't _me_."

"You got the vice president arrested and got your house blown up by a terrorist," Natasha drawled. "I think we're even."

"I got a medal for it."

"The senator who gave you that medal is a HYDRA employee."

The billionaire groaned and placed his head on the table. "Does that mean I have to give it back?"

Pepper laughed at him.

Traitor.

oOo

If he had thought that Natasha looked small on his couch, Steve Rogers looked incredibly young on the hospital bed. It had been worse than what the redhead had told him—three gunshot wounds, a broken cheekbone, numerous bruised, fractured, and broken ribs, and a total of three hundred stitches.

"You answered his phone," Tony told one Sam Wilson sitting in the only chair in the room beside the bed. The other man raised an eyebrow and looked at Natasha as if to say '_is this guy serious'_.

"You _called_ the phone," Sam responded. "I just had it in my pocket."

"Why did you have it in your pocket?"

Pepper sighed behind him but he didn't turn to look at her. This was an interrogation, damn it—

"Because mine got crushed under my car when a god damn assassin with a metal arm ripped out my steering wheel." Okay. As excuses went that was pretty good. Sam narrowed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair. "A _metal_ arm."

Tony waved that away. "Yeah, super assassin told me."

Natasha looked up from where she was leaning over Steve and scowled at him. "You two can either knock it off or take it outside." Her scowl turned into a smile that had far too much teeth in it. "It might be preferable for the two of you to go _willingly_."

"Not if you're going to strangle me with your thighs," Tony pointed at her and grinned. "Then it would be worth it."

Her answering look was cold enough it could've frozen the captain all over again—okay, even Tony could admit _that_ was a bad joke. "Why do that when I could shoot you and let the nurses drag you out of here?"

Sam lifted his hands innocently when her gaze landed on him. "Don't look at me, I was here first."

"That doesn't inspire me with confidence," The redhead drawled.

Tony fought the incredible urge to point at the other man and laugh.

He lost.

(He never really tried to win).

"Look," Tony said in all seriousness later when he was driving Sam Wilson back to his home. "Thank you for what you've done for him and if you need a place to stay while in New York," he handed over a business card. "You know where to find us."

"Us?" the other man looked over the holographic card, tilting it this way and that.

The billionaire's answering smile was genuine. "The Avengers."

oOo

Bruce was the first to be tracked down simply because he was the easiest (and wasn't _that_ ironic). He was also the closest one to get to when Tony arrived back home; two floors away and buried in lab equipment.

"So," the doctor didn't look up from his experiment. "SHIELD spilled all its nasty secrets across the net."

"_Technically_," the inventor drew the word out, "Natasha was the one who spilled all of SHIELD and HYDRA's nasty secrets all over the web." Tony pointed out, sitting on a stool and lazily using his toes to spin him around.

Bruce winced a bit and pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "Including my location."

"Well, uh, no." The billionaire leaned back before realizing that was not the _best_ idea when the stool tipped dangerously back. "Jarvis went through everything before it trended and erased a lot of stuff. Including where you are."

Brown eyes blinked and turned onto the grinning inventor. "So the army _isn't_ going to come knocking on the door?"

Tony shrugged. "Not unless you count Captain America as the army, then no." He stood up with a flourish and patted the Doctor on the shoulder. "No one's dragging you out of my property."

"Sure," Bruce murmured, but grinned. "Why did you come down here, then?"

"Can't I visit a friend?"

The look on Bruce Banner's face was disbelieving and, quite honestly, exasperated. He looked tired and a bit stressed, the week of SHIELD's fall crashing down on his shoulders too. (Tony cursed at himself because, honestly, he should have brought the other man with him to see Steve at the hospital.) "_Sure_, Tony."

"Okay, fine," Tony sat on the table and ignored the dubious expression on the scientist's face. "I'm restarting the Avengers Initiative."

"That's already—" But Bruce paused. "SHIELD doesn't exist anymore," he said slowly. "So neither do the Avengers."

Summoning a holographic screen to himself, Tony played around with a few settings until he pulled up the blueprint for what he had been calling the Avenger's Tower behind the scenes with Pepper. Grinning, he spun it around to the other man could look over it. "Not on record. But, what was it? A group of remarkable people don't need to be a part of an organization."

"That's because they _are_ an organization," grumbled Bruce as he wrote down some data on his clipboard. "So you want me to do, what? Join as the Hulk?"

"Bruce Banner can be useful too, you know," Tony watched as the other man ducked his head. "You're a brilliant scientist and your history of being an actual doctor can actually come in handy." He shrugged. "If the big guy wants to come out and smash a few baddies, well, who's to stop him?"

Bruce glanced up. "And if the Hulk wants to smash you?"

"We've got Thor and Captain America. Plus, I'm thinking about making the suit Hulk proof."

"Good luck with that," the doctor mumbled, but there was a small smile creeping up on his face. "You want me as both Bruce Banner and the Hulk?"

Tony raised his arms, motioning to the laboratory around them. "You're already here, aren't you? Might as well stay. Room and board are free."

"Free for everyone?" Bruce's look was just a bit sly.

"Nah, just for Avengers." Tony paused before adding. "And Pepper."

oOo

It doesn't come as a surprise when Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson suddenly vanish off the government's radar. What does come as a surprise is that Natasha Romanoff doesn't disappear with them.

oOo

Thor, of course, is the second easiest. It just takes a small bit of time to get Jane Foster's phone number and insist the astrophysicist to put Thor on the phone and _no_ he wasn't calling the Thunder God away, he just wanted to speak to him.

"_Are you sure that I am not needed?"_ Thor said for the third time, his voice booming through the speakers—but Thor's voice was always booming so it wasn't _that_ much of a change—yet still sounding gentle and worried with all the charisma of a prince. _"I have heard about the troubles over there and that the Captain had been injured."_

"He's fine," Tony rolled his eyes. "Off frolicking with an assassin and war buddy off the government's radar."

Thor's laugh was like rolling thunder. _"Indeed!"_

"But, hey, so I was thinking about getting the Avengers back together here, at the tower." Tony looked up and saw the picture of Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and Erik Selvig. "Your friends are, of course, welcome to join."

"_They are dealing with some complications in England,"_ Thor said, sounding as if he was turning his head to look at someone. _"The government is trying to figure out the full story after SHIELD fell and wants whatever was collected from the attack in order to study it."_

Tony frowned. "Are they harassing you for it?"

"_Not in so many words, no. But they are persistent and correct in thinking that, perhaps, the equipment was not entirely in the right hands."_ God, he could even hear the prince's frown. Was that an Asgardian trait? Passing emotions over phones? _"They have not tried anything yet as Jane has allowed them to search her apartment for any of the technology."_

"I'm guessing she didn't keep anything?"

A deep rumble came from the alien, sounding amused and pleased at the same time. _"No, she did not. The only thing she kept was what she had brought with her, and all of that had been dismantled when the battle had been finished and the Dark Elf defeated."_

"And you," Tony grinned.

The Asgardian laughed. _"Yes, and me. But only my heart was kept. The rest of me came willingly."_

So many sex jokes that might or might not have been wasted on a Norse God passed through Tony's mind even as he fought to keep it strictly business (not that it was working as Thor was already talking about his love life but, hey, he tried). "Well, you know the tower is open to all of you," the billionaire repeated. "I'm having rooms and laboratory space set up for Doctor Foster, Miss Lewis, and Doctor Selvig."

"_They will be pleased, I should think."_ Thor's voice was so happy and there was the sound of someone else talking—feminine and giggling. _"Oh, yes, Darcy says she would love to stay as long as,"_ the Asgardian paused and continued, humour lighting his voice. _"As long as she is able to see the captain shirtless."_

Snorting, Tony covered his mouth to keep the laughter in. "Don't know if I can promise that," he smiled broadly. "But I'll do my best."

Thor passed along his message and the billionaire listened as the people on the other side laughed.

oOo

Natasha was sitting at his kitchen table three weeks after Tony had returned from D.C. with a mug of coffee in her hands.

"Not so fun sneaking into Steve's apartment when he's not there, is it?" The billionaire sat across from her, flipping through the newspaper. "Where'd they go, anyway?"

She looked up at him. "To track down the past."

"Oh, well, that's not cryptic." Tony deadpanned and looked over the paper at her. "How can they track down something from seventy years ago?"

The smile on her face was sly, but underneath that there was a layer of pain that he couldn't really understand. Then, Natasha Romanoff, keeper of secrets, told him everything about the fall of SHIELD and the Winter Soldier.

Tony Stark, in return, bought her twenty safe houses across the world and got her four new identities to use as she pleases before setting up a program to track down one Steven Rogers and one Sam Wilson.

He finds them in Russia.

oOo

"Mr. Stark! What are your plans now that SHIELD—"

"—Any word on Captain America and—"

"What about the Avengers?"

Tony grinned at the cameras surrounding him, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, Pepper at his side both of them dressed to the nines in front of a restaurant where the food and entertainment cost more than some of the cars the reporters drove (okay he was exaggerating a bit). No comments came out of his mouth as he led the woman on his arm through the pack of hyenas like a pro.

Which, well, he didn't mean to _brag_, but he kind of was one.

They leave the press to shout at the glass door and the hostess seats them with a smile and record timing in what would have been a private room except for a few other tables.

"Well," Pepper laid out her napkin across her lap. "That was fun."

Tony gave her a grin and picked up the wine menu with two fingers and flipped through the choices, not really paying attention (he'd ask for the most expensive bottle). Their waiter came out—a nice young man with curly brown hair—just as a second couple got seated beside them.

"This is a nice place."

Turning slowly, Tony looked at the woman in black, a pair of red lens glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. Her blonde hair fell straight, curling across her shoulders like melted vanilla ice cream. Those sharp, cold eyes, though, were unmistakable. "Aren't you supposed to be in D.C.?"

"We tried it," the man turned, his black suit accented by a purple tie, black hair ruffled artistically. His glasses had violet lenses and blue eyes looked over them while bow-like lips curved upwards, grinning sharply at the Pepper and Tony. "It left a bad taste in our mouths."

"Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff. Skipping class will get you in trouble."

They both shrugged. "They can't demand us all the time. We're expensive." The archer picked up a menu.

"And rude," Natasha smiled in a way that was more amused and soft for the other people in the room. Her eyes were cold and hidden behind the colour of blood.

Tony motioned at the restaurant. "Can you two even afford this place?"

Pepper sighed tiredly beside him and rested her chin on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry for his rudeness."

"Nah, that's okay," Clint waved his hand and rolled his eyes. "We understand it's because he's got a tiny—" The archer yelped and lurched.

Natasha grinned, smugly. "You do realize that both of us were assassins for hire before we joined SHIELD?" She said, playing with a fork on the table with a single, painted fingernail. "It paid _excellent_ money."

Tony watched as Clint rubbed at his foot, wincing, and scooted his chair a little bit farther away from them. "I suppose so," his smile was shaky—but not as much as it could have been. "Speaking of, I have a proposition for you, Katniss."

"I might agree if you don't call me Katniss ever again," the other man grumbled.

"Are you sure this is a conversation that can be held here?" Pepper leaned forward as the waiter came back with a bottle of red wine. "Perhaps it should be completed... someplace else."

Natasha and Clint both laughed. "We have nothing left to hide," the redhead flicked back a piece of fake, blonde hair. "No more secrets to keep."

"And you're both hiding your identity anyway," Tony drawled, grinning at the waiter as his glass was filled. "That doesn't really make anyone feel better, I'm sure."

"Habit," the archer responded. "How about we meet at Steve's place in an hour?"

Pepper snorted. "You can't use the poor guy's home as a secret meeting spot."

"It's not like it would surprise him," Natasha smirked. "He doesn't have any desserts, though."

"How would you know that, Agent Romanoff?"

Her smile was sharp and, just maybe, a tiny bit guilty.

oOo

"You know," Bruce Banner looked up from his computer as the captain announced that they were making their descent into Moscow. "The Government won't be too keen on the idea of us all in Russia."

"Not all of us will be in Russia," Tony smoothed down his tie and shot the scientist a winning grin. "Just me and my new security guard."

Clint looked up from where he was playing Go Fish with Natasha and gave them both a two fingered wave. His hair and eyebrows were dyed a natural looking red colour—dark, and almost orange—freckles drawn on his cheeks, a long scar over his (new and fake) blind, left eye. The only resemblances to Clint Barton were in the way he held himself—and the case at his feet that held a bow and quiver of arrows.

"The Avengers on their first recon mission," Tony sighed, a dreamy smile on his face. "My baby is all grown up."

"Technically, it's SHIELD's baby."

Natasha smirked. "HYDRA's if you're _truly_ technical."

The billionaire scowled at them both. "Let's not be _too_ technical," he said, though his voice came from behind them. The Avengers turned to see the _actual_ Tony Stark walk into the cabin, fixing his newly dyed blonde hair so it was messy and fluffed. His face was clean shaven, eyes covered by green contact lenses. Out of the expensive suit, he looked like everyone else. "No faults in the hologram?"

"None so far," Clint shrugged. "Jarvis plays an excellent you, by the way."

"_Thank you, sir,"_ the English accent came from Tony Stark's mouth, and JARVIS sounded way too pleased with himself. _"It would be disappointing if I couldn't do an accurate impression after all these years."_

Laughing, The billionaire sat down beside Bruce. "Well, let's just hope that you don't have any desires to kill me in my sleep and take over the planet."

"_Perish the thought."_

"Jarvis would be incredibly good at running the planet, though. Just enough snark, the accent... he's got all the quirks of a super villain." Clint raise his hand that wasn't full of cards and reached it up for a high five not seeing Natasha lean her head slightly to the left to see his hand in the window's reflection. The archer yelped when steel connected to his palm and winced, rubbing his fingers. "I'm guessing that I will also be keeping people away in case they want to touch you."

Tony snorted and leaned back in his chair. "That's what a body guard _does_, Cupid."

The plane lands with no external or internal problems (except for Bruce's tiny little freak out over turbulence, but, well, they weren't ever going to mention that again). JARVIS stepped off as Tony, raising his hands in the customary peace signs while Clint Barton donned a pair of dark sunglasses and followed him.

The others simply waited until the press vanished before taking their leave. Bruce stayed on board, of course ("Me stepping off this plane would be an incredibly stupid idea," he told them, eyes narrowed, daring them to argue. Neither did), and Natasha wrapped her arm through Tony's and talked to him excitedly in Russian as they passed through regulations. The billionaire nodded and smiled—even though he didn't understand a word she said—until they got into a taxi.

"Where are they?" Natasha spoke with a heavy, Russian accent, suddenly straightening and all business.

Tony showed her his phone and she rattled off the address to the driver. "Google maps says it's a bar."

The woman snorted. "It is, indeed, a bar."

"A very run down bar," The billionaire narrowed his eyes and glared at the screen before turning to Natasha, eyes wide as if she had all the answers. "Steve can't get drunk."

"Sam can."

They drove across town, the airport disappearing in the distance behind finely crafted buildings that were a mix between both western and eastern cultures. "What's it like being back here?"

Natasha glanced at him and then turned her eyes to the city, the people, the lights. "Exhausting," she murmured.

The bar was lit up from the inside and only one, simple sign hanging above the door announcing the title in Russian. Tony handed over a fistful of ruble bills at the driver and trotted after Natasha who was already walking towards the door. She pushed it open, making it slam up against the wall, and walked right in as the billionaire followed, tugging consciously at his shirt.

It would have been far more difficult to ignore Steve and Sam than actually find them in the mess—both men were around a roughed up billiards table. The captain had one of the cue sticks in his hand, leaning against one of the walls as a burly, broad shouldered man took his shot. Sam sat on a stool at the bar, pint of beer in one hand and camera in the other grinning like this was the best thing he'd ever seen.

And, on a scratched up wooden table, there was a jar of money.

It was, quite frankly, a rather _large_ jar that was _full_ of money.

Natasha walked over, hips swinging and eyes half lidded. Eyes turned to her, wolfish grins spread across faces, but she had eyes only for Steve.

The captain blinked when he caught her gaze and laughed. "_Sono nei guai?_"

"_Non ancora_," She purred and slid up next to him, hands behind her back, leaning her shoulders against the wall so her body was twisted, hips forward, hair falling across the top of her breasts.

Steve grinned at her and stepped away from the wall as the man that had been playing finished and didn't put the ball in. "_Gelbe kugel_," he said, leaning over and dragging the taper of the cue stick over the knuckles of his hand as if it was a lover. "_Linke kopf ecke_."

Sam reached over and dragged Tony to the stool next to him while the black tip of the stick lined up with the white ball. "Man," the retired paratrooper grinned. "Have you seen this guy play pool? It's _disgusting_." Turning around, he leaned over the bar and ordered something in Russian.

"I didn't know you spoke the language," Tony narrowed his eyes, looking over the other man.

"Speaking a language and knowing how to order a beer in said language are two totally different things."

The billionaire leaned his elbows on the counter. "So you're a one trick pony."

"I never said _that_," Sam grinned, his smile toothy. "Can it be called one trick if you can do it in thirty different languages?"

"You can order a beer in thirty languages?" Tony blinked and stared at the soldier. "Don't you—" The inventor was cut off as the darker man suddenly hushed him and pointed at the billiards table.

Steve was grinning, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he thrust the stick between his fingers (yeah, Tony could do a hell of a lot of sex jokes with that too). The white ball spun, bouncing off of one wall, then a second, a third, and hit the yellow nine ball with a _smack_ that sent it into a corner pocket. The crowd howled with laughter and slapped each other on the back. Money exchanged hands and the captain was looking at the table with a smile on his face.

"_Viola e arancio. Tasca laterale_," Natasha said, a sly smile on her face.

Glancing back at her, Steve grinned and Tony sat up straighter, eyes running over the balls. Purple, up in the left hand corner, orange on the bottom left. "He can't make that," he said, turning to Sam who just shrugged.

"Man, I don't know how to speak French—"

"Italian."

Sam waved a hand as if it was the same thing. "—I just know how to order a _beer_ in it."

Tony's bar landed on the counter and he snatched it without taking his eyes off Steve. "_Lila und orange. Seitentasche_," the captain said to a round of guffaws. Some people yelled across the room to each other, more money was dropped into the jar.

The white ball was sent off again, cracking into the orange ball first and sent it speeding for the centre. One wall, two, the purple ball. Both colours sat in the middle of the table when the white ball bounced off the foot board and smacked into both of them—sending one into one side pocket and the second into the other.

"Holy _shit_—" Tony just about stood up from his stool and the bar erupted into cheers as Steve laughed and punched the air.

Sam snickered and took a long drink of his beer. "Man, you do realize he throws that shield around like a ping pong, right? It's no boomerang—he's _got_ to know how to make it come back to him."

"_Vosem' myach!_" A man yelled. "_Vosem' myach! Vosem' myach!_" The rest of the bar quickly joined in, fists, mugs, glasses all pounding on tables and walls. "_Vosem' myach! Vosem' myach! Vosem' myach!_"

Steve turned to Natasha, his eyebrows rising in question. "Eight ball," she pointed at the black ball and he grinned and nodded, leaning over to take the shot when a hand landed on his shoulder.

The soldier glanced up at the large man, his dark bread covering most of his face. "_Poluchit' yego v levom karmane golovy to vremya kak udary pyat' sten_."

Blinking, the captain frowned and turned, once again, to Natasha. "_Cosa?_"

"_Tasca testa a sinistra mentre colpendo cinque pareti_," she repeated, pointing to the eight ball and held up five fingers.

Nodding once, Steve grinned and leaned over again, this time moving a bit more to the left. His eyes flickered over the balls, the walls, and the tip of the cue stick before he hit the white ball.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five walls. The eight ball, left head corner pocket. Glass knocked into each other, people laughed and shook Steve's hand, grinning broadly, their alcohol sloshing. Smiling, the captain scooped up the jar of money and stuck his hand inside, quickly shoving bills and coins into his wallet.

A man walked up to him, holding up a triangle and the soldier smiled apologetically, tapping his watch. Steve led all four of them out of the place, hands in his pockets and grinning broadly.

"I'm guessing you two aren't here for a vacation?"

Natasha snorted. "I'm not even allowed out of the country right now," she sighed exasperatedly.

"Yes, well—"

"We're here to talk about the Avengers Initiative." Tony said and grinned when both soldiers stared at him for a few seconds.

Then, Steve shook his head. "Tony, I—"

"The Winter Soldier, Bucky, yeah, I know, I get it," the billionaire wrapped one arm around the other man's shoulder, leading him down the street. "His memories were wiped and there's a trail of dead HYDRA agents, but you need to start looking at the world." Tony's finger poked the soldier in the chest, close to his heart. "The world _needs_ Captain America."

Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth. "So does Bucky," he murmured.

"Yeah, okay, we _know_ that," the inventor stepped forward so he was standing in front of Steve. "I'm not telling you to forget about him, I'm telling you to fight the good fight _and_ search for him. Two things at once." Holding up a hand to stop the protests, Tony continued. "Also, okay, the battles we fight are pretty public because, hello, _I'm there_. He'll see you on T.V.. If he's ready don't you think he'll search you out?"

Pressing his palm over where the billionaire had poked him, Steve bit his bottom lip and turned to glance back at Sam and Natasha. "Stark—"

"Don't you '_Stark_' me. You're hunting ghosts."

The soldier sighed and threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, alright? _Fine_."

There was a sound similar to a slap—that flesh against flesh noise—behind him and Steve spun around only to see Natasha and Sam looking back at him as innocently as they could. For the redhead, it actually looked sincere. For the other soldier, however...

"Did you just high-five?"

"Nope," Sam backed away as the Captain approached, but a smile was sneaking out onto his face. "There was no high-fiving here, no sir."

"You're a damn _liar_, Sam Wilson."

oOo

They all arrived in New York after dropping Sam off in D.C., Tony and Clint both dying their hair back to their natural shades, contacts removed, the robot JARVIS had used powered down. Steve was going to be the first one dropped off, so they all went up the stairs together, laughing when they entered his apartment.

"Where'd all the milk go?" Steve mumbled, looking through his fridge. "And my leftovers?" Pulling his head out, the soldier threw a dark look at Natasha. "You ate all my food."

"Clint helped."

He shut the fridge door and glanced at the clock. It was only around noon. Plenty of time. "I'm going to get groceries." Steve grumbled and scowled when they all got up to follow. "That was _not_ an invitation."

"_Tu casa es mi casa_," Tony grinned as they approached the blue Nissan Rogue sitting in one of the garages for the apartment building. Clint and Natasha immediately slid into the back, leaving the passenger seat for the billionaire.

"Thank you," the archer snickered. "For that wonderful butchering of the Spanish language.

Tony gave him two birdies he hoped the assassin would keep in his heart and Clint laughed. Grumbling to himself, Steve pulled out of the garage and headed off towards the nearest grocery store. "All I need is milk," he mumbled. "Milk and cereal. _Milk_ and _cereal_."

"We're being followed." Natasha interrupted his mantra with the calm, steadiness of voice that only belonged to people who purposefully ruined other's calm and oh-we're-not-being-shot-at-how-nice-is-this days in their spare time.

The first thing that came to Steve's mind was, undoubtedly, _Fuck you, Natasha._

"_Are_ we?" Tony sounded too excited, turning around. "Clint, you should hand me that suitcase in the back—yeah, that one."

"You left an _Iron Man_ suit in my car?" Steve glanced over before turning his eyes back onto the road, glancing up in his rear view mirror to see the heavily armed black SUV following him.

Shrugging as the machine pieced itself together over his body, the billionaire grinned. "Can never be too unsure!" Once his body was completely covered, the suit online, Tony opened the door and jumped out (careful to shut the door behind him which Steve was, actually, grateful for) and landed on black asphalt in the smack dab centre of traffic.

Cars honked.

Guns came out.

The usual.

Steve only sighed as the moon roof opened, Clint Barton scrambling to his feet on the back seats. The soldier was pretty sure the archer had either pulled the bow out of his ass or it had been hidden—yes (Natasha was pulling a quiver out from under a compartment that the captain was pretty sure was supposed to be for storing groceries or luggage. _Maybe_ even a spare tire if they were _normal_ people). Yes, it had been hidden.

"I should have stayed in Russia," Captain America sighed and pressed his foot down on the gas.

* * *

I think I'm having way too much fun with these. I might need an intervention.

Italian:

Sono nei guai: Am I in trouble?

Non ancora: Not yet

Viola e arancio: Purple and Orange

Tasca laterale: Side pocket

Cosa: What

Tasca testa a sinistra mentre colpendo cinque pareti: Left head pocket while hitting five walls.

German:

Gelbe kugel: Yellow ball

Linke kopf ecke: Left head corner.

Lila und Orange: Purple and orange

Seitentasche: Side pocket.

Russian:

Vosem' myach: Eight Ball

Poluchit' yego v levom karmane golovy to vremya kak udary pyat' sten: Get it in the left head pocket while hitting five walls.

Spanish:

Tu casa es mi casa: Your house is my house.

Thanks for reading and please leave a review!

Gospel


End file.
